The Prince is Giving a Ball
by VampirePam
Summary: In which Tony throws a party, Steve is a walking fantasy, Bucky wears tights, Natasha fights the patriarchy, Sam feels pretty, Coulson tells a fib, and Hawkeye learns too late about Tchaikovsky. Steve/Bucky, Clint/Coulson.


Ducking his head into the living room, Bucky felt his breath catch in his throat. He'd been informed that Steve's pre-assigned costume for tonight's Starkstravaganza was that of Prince Charming, but no amount of foreknowledge could have adequately prepared him for quite how, well, _charming _he'd look in a shining white suit with gold trim.

Steve caught sight of him and grinned, taking the illusion to a whole other level. "Hey, you look great!"

"I look ridiculous," Bucky said, glancing down for the fiftieth time at his green tights and tunic. "I'm going to go change."

"Oh, no, you don't." Steve was across the room in seconds, catching him around the waist in a loose embrace - and thus effectively preventing him from fleeing. "Tony will spend the entire evening pouting if we don't at least try to conform to his ridiculous theme. And who could make a better Prince of Thieves?"

Bucky contemplated protesting, but decided that the opportunity of spending an entire evening with Steve in that outfit - not to mention the tantalizing potential of seducing him out of it - was worth the potential pain and suffering of doing so dressed as Robin Hood.

"Fine, on one condition - things get too hectic, we gather the Merry Man and head back to Sherwood Forest."

Steve beamed and bussed him on the lips. "Deal. Thanks, Buck." He leaned back a little and directed his attention toward the spare bedroom. "Hey, you two, get a move on, we're going to be late!"

Sam and Natasha's subsequent entrance into the room made Bucky feel instantly better about the tights.

"Nice dress," Bucky smirked.

"Thanks, man!" Sam did a little twirl, brushing pink taffeta over Steve's furnishings. "I think it really makes my complexion glow, you know?"

"Looking good!" Steve laughed appreciatively. "Is this your doing or the Prince of Stark Industries'?"

"Ask the Artist Formerly Known as Natasha," Sam said with a shrug.

Steve pivoted and raised an eyebrow at Natasha, who glowered with shocking efficacy for a woman wearing an oversized purple velour suit.

"He sent me Princess Peach," she spat out, in lieu of any proper explanation.

"Can't blame her, man," Sam interjected, still twirling a little from side to side. "And making the black guy Prince? Pretty cliche."

"Insulting is what it is," came a voice from the window.

Bucky instinctively began to move into defensive position, but Steve simply tightened his grip a little and called out, "Barton, we talked about this. Doors, doors are our friends."

"My bad." With a rather too revealing rustle of feathers, Clint swung in from the fire escape and crossed to the front door. As Bucky watched, eyes widening, he unlocked it to reveal Coulson in full Renaissance dress - excepting his head and hands, which were covered in strangely molded green felt. "You were right. They weren't into it."

"Can't take him anywhere." Coulson raised his two webbed monstrosities in a gesture generally indicating _what can you do? _

"Please, please, _please _tell me this is for the party," Sam said, glancing between them with a look of concern on his face. "If it's a weird sex thing, I do _not _want to know."

"Come on, isn't it obvious?" Coulson said, standing a little closer to Clint. "Someone had better kiss me because I'm..."

"Trying so hard?" Bucky contributed.

"Desperate?" Sam smirked.

"Dying of a rare skin disease?" Natasha suggested sweetly.

The look of concentration on Steve's face shifted to one of triumph as he announced, "The Frog Prince!"

"Yes, thank you!" The gratitude in Coulson's tone was palpable. "And Clint here is quite clearly..." He gestured grandly at his date's ensemble, which appeared to be some sort of ballet costume made of white feathers.

"In need of professional psychiatric care," Natasha pronounced.

"Wait, wait, I've got this." Sam made a show of concentrating. "Bjork."

"Really, guys?" Clint let out an exasperated sigh. "How do you not recognize the Swan Prince when you see him?"

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Sam looked at the ceiling. Steve looked at his feet. Natasha pressed a hand to her mouth, failing miserably at hiding her laughter.

One former brainwashed agent to another, Bucky decided to take pity on him. A few sentences of explanation whispered into Clint's ear had his eyes widening and shifting in Coulson's direction.

"Phil," he said, through gritted teeth, "This isn't a medieval Russian kilt...is it?"

Coulson avoided his eye as he admitted, "Not _strictly_ speaking, no."

"Strictly speaking, then, it's more of a tutu. Because there is no Swan Prince, only a Swan Princess. Who does _ballet_."

As Clint made to lunge for Coulson, muttering some decidedly un-princessly sentiments, Sam quickly hooked an arm his neck and declared, "Come on, man - we princesses have to stick together. Can't let the princes have all the fun."

Clint appeared to consider for a moment, before placing hands on his hips and declaring, "To hell with it - my legs look fantastic." Sam grinned and clapped him on the shoulder.

"But as for you…" He sent Coulson a raised eyebrow and a glare, "No kisses for you tonight. See how you like being stuck as an amphibian."

"All right, all of you, enough fooling around," Steve interjected, gesturing pointedly at his watch. "If we don't get to Stark Tower soon, Tony will see that none of us inherit our thrones."

"We're going to get some looks on the subway," Bucky observed as they made their way one at a time down the narrow stairs of Steve's apartment building.

"I wouldn't worry about that," Steve called back from the door, his face wreathed in a grin. "Unless you think the stretch horse-drawn carriage parked out there could have been sent by anyone other than Tony Stark."

"Well," Natasha said, gliding regally down the stairs, "At least he knows how to treat royalty."


End file.
